


Of Pie and Intentions

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pie, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: The one where Devrim comes back to the City and makes our girl some pie... and find's out she's seeing someone.





	Of Pie and Intentions

Devrim and Suraya are in the latter’s small kitchen, fetching plates and cutlery. The scent of rhubarb pie wafts through her space and out onto the small balcony. Her outdoor space is adorned with a smart navy couch and two matching chairs that flank a low table.

When the sliding door opens to the two of them bringing the dessert outside, he drops the book he’s reading and looks surprised.

“I would have helped,” he tells them, skin flickering in mild irritation.

Devrim shakes his head. “Nonsense, Commander. It’s your day off. We enjoy the domesticity once in a while.” Suraya nudges the door closed behind her with a bare foot. She’s constantly barefoot in her own space, a startling contrast from her boot-clad outdoorsy persona. Devrim settles into the chair opposite the Commander, leaving Suraya the couch.

“Alright,” She says, excitedly. “Who wants pie?”

Both men indulge her with smiles, and she serves it up like they’re in a bakery, dollop of whipped cream on top. They eat slowly, she devours hers rapidly, all the while discussing everything from recovery efforts to Suraya’s adaptation to living in the city after so many years away.

At some point, Louis drops in, landing on the arm of Zavala’s chair. Both Suraya and Zavala reach out to stroke the downy feathers on his head and chest, respectively. Devrim, always alert, notices the subtleties.

For one, Zavala has no reason to pet the bird. Suraya absolutely hated it when someone attempted to touch her feathered companion. And two, Louis normally did not enjoy the touch of anyone except his master. Devrim himself had only pet the bird once or twice.

And yet, here he was, nipping at the Vanguard Commander’s fingertips in an affectionate, attention seeking manner when the man went to pull his hand away. The Awoken man chuckles and resumes his two knuckle brush of white feathers.

“You’re spoiling him,” Suraya says, her voice light. Devrim isn’t sure the last time he heard her so at ease. “He’ll never leave you alone.”

Zavala looks over at her but doesn’t stop. “There are worse fates.”

Devrim suddenly feels incredibly protective and out of place. Like he’s intruded on something. “So Dev,” Suraya says, as she helps herself to another piece of pie, “How’s the EDZ? Getting on without me?”

“Well, your Clans are certainly up for the task. Fireteam and some scouts did an excellent job removing the Taken from the Lake.”

“I heard about that,” She says. “Zavala said he was pretty impressed with the way things worked out.” Zavala had resumed reading his book one-handed, absentmindedly stroking Louis as he did. He hummed in agreement of Suraya’s statement, not looking up from the page. There are only a few bites of pie left on his plate.

“Well then. How about your personal life? I trust that being a war hero has come with admirers.” The Militia leader pointedly looks at her only. He absolutely feels the luminescent gaze of the Titan on him. He’d say it was curious, but he has a feeling it isn’t. He’s the only family the Clan Steward has. If his gut is right - and it rarely isn’t - he must judge this man’s intentions.

Suraya certainly shot for the stars, eh?

Suraya blushes, and Zavala’s eyes travel to her. Devrim keeps a deadpan stare. “There have been… some admirers.” She holds her hands up in a defensive pose, shifting her legs so that they rest under her on the couch. “Most of them have no actual idea what kind of person I am, so it’s easy to shut them down.”

“You didn’t tell me about this,” The Commander rumbles softly. “I would have addressed it.”

“Please. There are more important things to address than some fan mail. And I’ve seen the amount you get. I get maybe two-thirds as much as you. The couple guardians and handful of civilians that approach me in person are usually thrown off by Louis. He doesn’t like it when people get too close.”

The statement is oddly contradictory, but no one comments on it. Zavala returns to his reading, and Devrim excuses himself to make tea.

It takes a few moments for the kettle to warm, and in that amount of time, Suraya joins him with the remainder of the pie and their plates, stacked neatly. She deposits them in the sink and begins running warm water to soak the dishes in while she covers the pie.

“So the Commander, Suraya?”

She looks over at Devrim in confusion. “W-what are you on about?”

He advances on her like a predator, eyes calculating. “I have to admit, he isn’t who I would have chosen for you. I never even considered him an option.”

Suraya blushes, hard. “Can we maybe have this discussion when he isn’t on the other side of a screen door? This is embarrassing.”

Devrim chuckles. “Alright.” He leans forward and kisses her cheek. “I’m glad you’ve found someone.”

“Ugh, okay, stop before I start calling you dad.” She elbows him playfully, meeting his eyes. He can’t recall the last time they looked so clear and unbogged from strife, and her smile is bright. “And, thanks.” She drops to a whisper. “He’s good for me. And Louis likes him.”

“You do know I will have to speak with him, right? You are family.”

“Speak with whom?” Zavala asks from behind them.

They’ve both missed the sound of the screen door opening and closing over the water running and kettle beginning to whistle.

She can practically see the gears in Devrim’s head turning. “Suraya and I were just discussing-”

“He figured out we were together,” The woman interjects. Devrim whips his head around to look at her, incredulously. She doesn’t sound uneasy. “Wanted to know your intentions and all that.”

“I see.” The Commander’s eyes narrow on the EDZ scout.

Devrim coughs. It’s a nervous tell.

“Pretty sure you had this talk with Sloane, after the War. Y'know, when Amanda kept finding reasons to go back to Titan?”

The flicker of protectiveness is gone as quickly as it appears. “Ah. Yes.” He clears his throat. “Suraya,” He intones gently, “Perhaps you and Louis could take a walk?”

She smiles and wraps her fingers around Zavala’s forearm as she walks by. “Go easy on him,” She says to Devrim. “And no embarrassing stories.”

“Oh?” Of course, Zavala’s interested. Damn him, she thinks.

There’s a smirk on Devrim’s face now and that’s what gets her all flustered. “No. Don’t do it. I will throw you off this tower!” She retrieves her companion, and throws on a pair of comfortable shoes.

“Not even the one with the bear?”

“Devrim Kay, I swear to all that is good in this world, I will end you if you tell him the story about the bear.”

The door closes sharply as a warning.

Two weeks later, a simple black bear plush sits in front of her on the council table used for Consensus meetings. It has a crochet poncho on it. Her eye twitches. Devrim had left to go back to the EDZ at first light. She resists the urge to throw it at the Commander’s bald head while Cayde slips into the seat beside her and says, “Secret admirer?”

She turns toward the Hunter, mindful of the appraising gaze at the head of the table. “Something like that. Anyway,” she drops her voice to a whisper. “You got any dirt on Zavala? He made a bad decision and I’m going to get back at him.”

“Oooh. You’ve come to the right guy. Zavala hates all sorts of things. Spiders, snakes, folk music-”

“How do you know all this? Actually, I don’t want to know. Continue.”

“Pineapple on his pizza, people who don’t get art, when someone is clearly plotting against him,” Both turn their heads toward the stoic man, who looks clearly concerned. Suraya schools her features into a collected, saccharine smile, picking up the bear and depositing it into her satchel. She waves at him. Cayde smirks, looking between the two. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he recites. “Remind me not to piss you off, Poncho. That face of yours is scary.”

Suraya isn’t listening though. She’s on her tablet looking for folk singers who do singing telegrams on short notice. (And don’t even get her started on Devrim.)


End file.
